Love Letters
by lalalyds2
Summary: Writing love letters is romantic, sending them is hard. Someday they'll finally be able to say what's on their hearts, but until then it's secret adoration and unsent confessions.
1. Letters To A Maus

"Meine Schatz,

There is not a way to write the words that rattle my heart in its ribcage, they remained trapped and yet so loose.

Hair reflecting violet light in its undertones as the eyes duck down, staring at feet with the intent to kill, you enchanted me. There's fire in you, dearest. It warms the fingers that crave to trail the paths your veins make and tickle the invisible thoughts you create.

To trace the pink lips, feel the ridges the hills your upper lip forms.

To connect your lips with mine, I believe such a kiss could birth universes.

Beloved, do you know what it is to crave with such longing, so much that all emotions, thoughts, desires are consumed by one aching need? To simply see your face.

If I could, I would rage, I would burn through the earth's very core to walk by your side.

To stand a thousand and one dark nights to hear you laugh.

To swallow the sea to see you smile.

To weave a second moon into the night so you'd never have to go without light.

To hold your hand so you never feel the need to cling to a shield.

I cannot battle this anymore, I surrender.

My heart will not listen to me and will not be commanded by logic.

So precious one, command it.

I consent and gladly give.

Ever yours,

Kommissar"

* * *

"Luisa, are you coming?" Pieter asks, huffing as sweat tickles his forehead, the crowd pushing into him to walk along the sidewalk.  
Tanned hands tremble, an egg-shelled envelope hovers over a graffiti covered mailbox.  
A hesitation.  
Jaws clench, a letter is dropped.  
The blue lid shuts with a resolute clang.  
"Ja, I'll be right there."

* * *

Beca climbs out of her car, sore muscles stretch as she walks to her silver letterbox. It's nestled comfortably and permanently next to its identical brothers.  
She hums as she thumbs through her mail.  
Bill.  
Bill.  
Scam.  
Trash.  
Another bill.  
A creamy envelope catches her attention.  
She opens it in confusion, there's not a return address.

"Tiny maus,

Hope you are resting your vocal chords. Can a throat as tiny as yours make a big enough sound to even be heard over the many fans chanting DSM's name?  
See you at Worlds.

Ever the best,

Kommissar"


	2. Replies To The Kommissar

"Dear Kommissar,

So I'm not good with words. I never have been. With you especially. You make my head spin like a kaleidoscope of crazy thought. I don't understand it. I barely know you, and even in those few moments of conversation you frustrated me, intimidated me, bedazzled me.

God, who uses the word bedazzled anymore? This is what you do to me, you ignite a fire in me that I never knew existed, and it melts me. It melts my thought process, every clever response I think of dissolves into my useless tongue.

I get tunnel vision when you cross my mind. You cross my mind more than I'll ever admit.  
Everything else fades away, until the only thing I can see is gold, poured thinly into precious strands that arrange into the tightest bun I have ever seen. Flawless everything.  
I swear, you weren't born, you popped out of a magazine.

Ok, my thoughts are running away from me. What I'm trying to say is, I like you.

A lot.

If you gave me even the slightest hint of interest, I would honestly drop everything and come running.

I would run to you, and I never run.

You make me want to do fantastical things.

You make me want to believe in fantastical things.

I'm pretty sure you could convince me that unicorns exist.

You could convince me you are one.

I'd believe it.

A rare, mythical creature with the power to heal with a simple touch, a kind fantasy, and yet deadly. Eager to pierce the heart of its enemies.

It kind of suits you.

Anyway, I've rambled long enough. I just wanted to let you know, I think you are magnificent. Completely and utterly magnificent.

And I'm yours, from now until you don't want me anymore.

Love,  
Beca."

* * *

Beca's fingers hover over her laptop keyboard.  
She's crazy, she knows it.  
But she can do this, she's got the email address, she's got the late night confidence, loopy bravery to spurn herself on.  
She can do this.  
She really can.  
Maybe.

* * *

Luisa's exercise routine is interrupted by a ding.  
Another email.  
She's procrastinated answering fan mail long enough, it's time to face the music.  
She wipes the sweat off her brow as she calls up a browser.  
The little icon is cheerfully lit up to notify her of the many emails she's received.  
Fan mail.  
Fan mail.  
More fan mail.  
A singular email catches her eye. The subject header says "Hey."  
Not "I love you!" or "Please read this, Kommissar" but "Hey."  
Of course she's received emails like this one before, but they always appeal to her more than adoration.  
She opens the email.

"Hey, I got your letter.

Fuck you.

Beca."

Luisa laughs.


End file.
